


Full Circle

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Cloaca, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Insecurity, Intimacy, M/M, Pampering, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27653638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which Crowley is having a bad shed and Aziraphale tries to help by inviting him into the bath with him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 491
Collections: Get A Wiggle On Zine





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Get A Wiggle On zine, a snake Crowley collection. The exclusivity period is now up and I can share the stories I wrote for it. Thank you to the amazing Chamyl for looking through this for mistakes for me!

For all the sharp, austere functionality of Crowley's flat, he does have a few indulgences. Not all of which he keeps hidden inside a safe, behind a sketch gifted to him by Leonardo Da Vinci. A fact which Aziraphale suspects Crowley would be very disappointed to find out he knew. As if he hasn't also been hiding things for 6000 years.

This indulgence would be rather difficult to hide, considering its size, and there's no mistaking the fact that it is an indulgence. One that Aziraphale is fond of using himself, now that they've joined their lives and their living spaces. Aziraphale had always assumed that Crowley's bathtub would be some stylish, sharp-angled, deeply uncomfortable thing - much like his throne. But instead it's a large, sunken pool in the floor, all black tiles and silver accents, with slanted sides and a small seating area.

There's enough room inside for three people - six if they didn't mind being friendly. Or, ' _just the right size for a giant snake to curl up in_ ,' as Crowley had so amusingly put it. Aziraphale hoped he'd get to see that some day. But, until then, he's not above occasionally sneaking some time in the thing himself. It reminds him of Rome, only without all the unpleasantness that tended to come with putting a lot of strangers in a bath together.

The interior isn't entirely smooth, there are faint ridges on the tiles that can be gripped by scales and used to push a large, slippery-wet, serpentine body up and out. Which seems like a very sensible modification when you're occasionally a giant snake. It also means Aziraphale can recline without worrying about sliding and spilling his rather nice glass of wine. Which he's been refilling every so often while the water obediently stays warm around him.

"You really should take a moment for yourself," he tells Crowley, who's currently staring into the bathroom mirror, scratching at the line of his jaw. His expression is some mixture of annoyance and misery. The skin on the back of his hand looks red and irritated, which suggests his coming shed will prove to be unpleasant. The fact that Crowley allows Aziraphale to see, allows him to know these small, secret things about him now, means so much to him. "The hot water would do you a world of good."

Aziraphale pulls a knee up through the bubbles, to provide a pointed comment on the large, empty space in front of him. He hopes that it feels more like an invitation than fussing over his well-being, which he knows Crowley hates.

"Trying to get me in the bath with you, angel?" Crowley's smile is surprised, but there's amusement pulling at the edges, and the way he leans back against the sink and eyes the water between Aziraphale's thighs suggests it might not take much to convince him.

Aziraphale looks at him over his wine. "You say that like we've never shared a bath before."

Crowley seems to agree, he gives a laughing exhale, fingers already working to undo the small buttons on his shirt. Aziraphale is close enough to see his boots slowly melt away, to briefly reveal the black and red scales on his feet before human skin flows over them. The belt is left to hang over the back of a chair, but the jeans - and whatever underwear he may or may not have been wearing - are snapped away. Then Crowley sinks down to his level, long legs slipping into the water, dark wet hair pressed enticingly to the curves of his knees.

Before Crowley can push himself in all the way Aziraphale reaches out and folds a hand around one of them.

"No, darling, not like that."

Crowley frowns down at him, expression slowly changing into something confused.

"This isn't really the form that could use a soak, is it?" Aziraphale tries to make it a gentle suggestion, he really doesn't want it to feel like he's pushing. But Crowley has been looking a touch bedraggled, and Aziraphale knows it's his serpent form that needs a bit of care.

Crowley understands immediately what he means, and his surprise is obvious, though the edges of it look a little too wary to make Aziraphale happy.

"You can't want a giant snake in the bath with you." Crowley leaves the words as a statement rather than a question, as though it's obvious.

"I've never had a giant snake in the bath with me," Aziraphale argues, quite sensibly he thinks. "Though I'm not going to pretend the thought doesn't appeal."

"You what?" Crowley's throat flexes and there's a breathy, surprised laugh. "You can't be serious?"

Aziraphale's hand is still very gently stroking Crowley's lower leg, the narrow flex of it moving slowly in the water. It hasn't tensed in his grip, and he takes that as encouragement to continue.

"We haven't had a chance to spend time together like that yet," Aziraphale reminds him. Oh, he'd wondered, and he'd hoped, but he'd never quite had the courage to say anything. Not until now.

Crowley's mouth pinches in, wavering between amusement and uncertainty. His exposed eyes search Aziraphale's face, then drop quickly to the water, as though he might find something horrible there. Or, more worryingly, as if he thinks he'll taint Aziraphale's bath somehow by shifting forms.

"I didn't know that was something you wanted," Crowley says at last, and something about it still feels like a question. "You've never said anything."

Aziraphale is perfectly aware of how much Crowley will do for him. Of how he sometimes - often - lets Aziraphale's needs and desires override his own. He doesn't know whether this is something Crowley wants too.

"Not, of course, if you feel uncomfortable with it," Aziraphale tells him. "You know I would never want that. You'd never disappoint me by saying no."

"No," Crowley says hastily. "I mean - it's fine, m'just surprised. If that's something you want, I can do that." He sets his hands down and lowers himself into the bath opposite Aziraphale. But he doesn't stop, he keeps sinking, body pulling in, limbs retracting, skin darkening in a wave. Once he reaches the bottom of the bath he's a heavy curl of black and red scales. A wobbly, slow-moving spiral through the water.

Aziraphale can't help the sigh of genuine relief and pleasure, though Crowley's still too deep to hear it. He lifts his wine and sets it on the side, as Crowley's body rises, scales sliding across his feet, as if questioning whether they're welcome for a moment, before he's pulling himself up Aziraphale's legs.

"There you are." Aziraphale can't help the smile, or the way his hands reach out and draw his demon closer. It's always lovely to see him, but this gentle, sliding pull of scales and muscle feels new and strangely intimate in a way that thrills him. "Hello, my darling."

Crowley's head leans into him, dragging his body with it, tongue curling out and flicking through the air in cautious greeting. Aziraphale breathes relieved laughter and leans in, pressing a kiss to the curve of his snout. The moment of affection causes a squirm that feels like surprised embarrassment. Crowley's head nudges under his chin, tongue fluttering briefly across Aziraphale's throat, before the demon carefully lets his weight sink into the softness of his body. Which Aziraphale is more than happy to allow, he hates the idea that Crowley could ever think his touch was unwelcome.

He's so different like this. His scales are cool, and there’s a faint, slippery rasp to them when Aziraphale smooths his hands down Crowley's spine, pulling water across places that he knows have itched terribly these past few days. There's a washcloth when he expects there to be one, and he takes to the task of washing every inch of that beautiful, undulating body with smooth, firm strokes. Crowley submits to it with uncharacteristic obedience, giving the occasional surprised hiss of pleasure, or nudging writhe that encourages Aziraphale to spend a bit longer on a particular spot. He finds that he's enjoying the opportunity to pamper Crowley immensely, especially the way the demon presses into the attention, giving a long, satisfied hiss when he's gently squeezed with the wet flannel. Crowley's head switches from shoulder to shoulder, before he finally settles his weight into the bend of Aziraphale's arm.

"M'supposed to be the one spoiling you," Crowley protests, after he can't possibly have a single speck of dirt left on him. Though he still rolls over so Aziraphale can clean a spot on his bright underside for a second time.

"Oh, I don't think we ever agreed to that," Aziraphale says firmly. He moves the cloth to Crowley's long, chilly snout and the high curves of his eye ridges. The cheeky demon takes the opportunity to let his tongue flicker across his mouth, a tickling pass that he seems to want to pretend is entirely accidental. But it feels so much like a stolen kiss that Aziraphale immediately leans in and presses his lips to the side of his mouth.

"Aziraphale!" There's a delightfully scandalised tone to his name, and he has to laugh and immediately repeat the movement. Much to Crowley's obvious, squirming pleasure.

"Perhaps later I could indulge you?" Aziraphale offers, letting his fingers stroke the smooth underside of Crowley's jaw. "Would you like that?"

The long, thin tail draws in and then twitches briefly upwards in the water, and Aziraphale can't help but take note of the movement, the way it feels surprised and eager.

"Angel, you know I have trouble keeping my shape at the moment, especially when you're being an impossible bloody flirt."

Aziraphale pulls him in a little closer. "Then don't."

Crowley goes very still against him, though Aziraphale can feel the confused tension in his scales, where his hand still strokes behind his neck with the cloth. Still gentle, as if he's said nothing scandalous whatsoever.

"We can't make love like this," Crowley says, soft enough for Aziraphale to feel it.

He protests the certainty of that with a sharp noise. "Are you saying that because it's something you don't want, or something you think I don't want? If it's the former I shall drop the matter. But if it's the latter -" Aziraphale sighs and sets the cloth down, reaches for Crowley's large, flat head and holds it gently. "If it's the latter, then I assure you I would be more than happy to explore intimacy with you like this."

Crowley's lower body pulls down and in, and Aziraphale can't help but be reminded of the defensive way that Crowley shoves his hands in his pockets, refusing to give away anything he's feeling.

"I'm a snake, Aziraphale, I'm not going to make you -"

Aziraphale shushes him, hand stroking down his neck.

"You are the Serpent of Eden, you are a demon, you are my very best friend and the love of my life. I have loved and desired you in every shape you've ever taken, in every form you've ever worn. There's nothing about you that doesn't enthral and delight me. Calling yourself 'a snake' and nothing else, as if it's the full measure of who you are, does you a terrible disservice." He stops, both because the pressure of Crowley's head sliding under his own is making it difficult to speak, and because he hadn't expected to voice his feelings on the matter so fiercely. "And I will tell you as much, as many times as you need to hear it."

Crowley says nothing, tongue surging out in dry tickles against the skin of Aziraphale's neck. Eventually his snout tucks gently under his chin, and rubs there. It feels oddly like a question, or perhaps permission. Aziraphale's hands smooth down the wet, flexing coils of him, and Crowley doesn't resist it, simply curls against him under the water. His long, slippery body is a new and interesting weight across Aziraphale's thighs, and he's looped himself in such a way as to leave almost his whole length available for him to touch. He finds himself stroking the larger scales on Crowley's belly, which are bright red and smooth as glass. He seems to enjoy it, in fact he twists a little, pulling up the narrowing length of his tail. There's a wordless sort of offer to the movement, something Aziraphale doubts Crowley would ask for out loud. But his demon rarely shows him what he wants so blatantly. 

Aziraphale lays a kiss on the top of his head, where the scales are still chilled, and spreads a hand on Crowley's underside, fingertips pressing down carefully. He finds the slightly paler shape at the base of Crowley’s tail. Aziraphale isn't entirely certain how the cloacal scale opens, though he's done enough research to know where it is.

He doesn't have to worry for long, because the scale slowly moves under his hand, sliding upwards and lifting, as if the proximity of his curious fingers was enough to arouse Crowley. The way his snout tucks against Aziraphale's neck, smothering a hissed curse, seems to confirm it. It feels a lot like embarrassment. Does Crowley believe that desiring Aziraphale in this form is in some way perverse?

"Would you like me to touch you?" Aziraphale asks quietly.

There's a soft hiss and a rub of serpentine head. Which feels very much like a yes, though one Crowley seems unwilling to voice out loud right now.

"You're more sensitive like this, aren't you?" Aziraphale remembers. "Please tell me if I hurt you, or if anything feels uncomfortable." His careful, searching touch finds the vent beneath the raised scale, the strange, tight opening that's the most intimate place on Crowley's long, scaled body. A gentle, rubbing caress of Aziraphale's fingers around the rim of his cloaca causes a squirm of movement that briefly nudges his fingertips inside. Crowley's body contracts in what feels like surprised pleasure, the hiss that results accompanied by a fluttering slide of tongue. He pulls more of himself into Aziraphale's lap, rolling slowly into a better position. It seems safe to let his fingers press in, where he finds Crowley to be hot, smooth, and invitingly tight.

Aziraphale is always aroused when he touches Crowley intimately, and this time is no different. He may know this form far less well than the one his demon normally wears, but the twitching squeeze of his body around Aziraphale's fingers, the low, deep hisses, and the way his tail pulls upwards to open himself wider is all so obviously indicative of pleasure. He carefully eases his fingers free, then pushes them inside again, stretching Crowley gently open, and the movement of his arm through the water is wonderfully lewd.

Crowley's whole body quivers, the resulting hiss frantic and blissful.

"Aziraphale, ssstop, you can't -"

He lets his hand go still, fingers slipping free.

Crowley nudges his head against the wet line of Aziraphale's neck, the movement frustrated and helpless.

"No, alright, don't stop." There's a hint of pleading in his sibilant voice. "Keep doing that." Crowley's body shifts backwards and his tail lifts, encouraging Aziraphale's fingers to return their attention to his cloaca.

"Haven't you ever thought about it, thought about how you could slither in between my thighs like this and have me?" Aziraphale asks curiously, fingers slowly and carefully pushing back inside. "Play out your desires in this form?"

"Aziraphale." There's a quivering flex of Crowley's tail, a jerking tug upwards, as if he can't help but try and pull Aziraphale deeper at the thought.

"Haven't you?"

Crowley goes briefly still, there's nothing but the flutter of his tongue and Aziraphale's slow-moving fingers.

"Of course I have." The words sound guilty and reluctant. "Always felt like something a demon would want."

"You are a demon, my love, and you're allowed to want things."

"There's a difference between being a wicked serpent and a _fiend_." The word is said so bitterly, an accusation he's heard before.

"What if I was to tempt you into it?" Aziraphale suggests.

"Tempt me?" The word seems to shock and amuse Crowley equally.

"To encourage you to make your desires known," Aziraphale offers instead. In case that's easier for Crowley to accept. "To seduce me thoroughly, and then -" He leaves a rather pointed pause.

"And then?"

Aziraphale is more than willing to say it, if Crowley can't.

"And then, as I said, slither between my thighs and have me." Aziraphale kisses the line of his mouth. "If that's a position that pleases you. Or I could have you, if you'd prefer, my beautiful serpent. As many times as you would like."

Crowley's wide head presses against his own, hard enough to tip it sideways, leaving a smooth stretch of skin for Crowley to taste with his tongue. Whatever he finds there has his whole body clenching and writhing on Aziraphale's thighs. The push of his fingers is briefly deep, and Crowley's whole body contracts in pleasure.

"Do you mean that, angel?" There's such tentative, surprised hope in the words. "Would you like that?"

Aziraphale thinks perhaps Crowley needs him to be honest.

"I have touched myself to thoughts of it more times than I can count," he admits.

There's a deep, hissing vibration, and then Crowley is curling away from the intimate touches, pushing himself backwards until he slides from Aziraphale's lap. 

"Get out of this bathtub right now."

Aziraphale smiles and sets his hands down on the dark tiles either side of him, pushes himself to his feet. The water streams from his body, small bubbles sliding over curves and swells of water-warmed skin, hanging briefly on the peaks of his nipples and the red flush of his stiffened cock.

"Upssstairs," Crowley hisses sharply.

"Is that a yes?"

Crowley's tail thrashes in the water, drives him towards the side, so he can pull his huge, wet body out onto the tiles.

"Angel, I am going to _ruin_ you."


End file.
